To You On The Other Side
by Nakimochiku
Summary: Needing to be close to what he lost, Arthur texts Francis, and ignores that he never gets a reply. France x England, oneshot, enjoy.


To You On The Other Side

March 21 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: to you

Uh, hi. I'm not even sure if this will work. But I need some way to

talk to you. I feel so bloody alone, and if I don't talk to you like

this, how am I supposed to feel close to you? Your number hasn't been

deactivated yet. I recite it sometimes, to make sure it's real. I hope

somehow, you get this. I hope there's cell phone service, where you are.

April 8 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: our day

I thought it was important to mention that it's our day today. And I'm

going to cry. When I'm by myself, of course. I'm going to drink till

I'm dizzy, till I can't think straight, till I imagine you there, just

out of my reach. Then I'm going to pass out and hope to god I dream of

you. I hope you're happy.

April 23 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: you suck

You're a bit of an asshole. Have you forgotten even this day? It's my

most important day, and you're not here. It's my birthday, and where

are you with my kiss. Where are you for my "happy birthday, petit

lapin" and no one can ever say that quite the way you do. Where are

you to make love to me for hours? I really hate you.

May 7 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: yourself

Russia insulted you today. And for once, I'm happy you weren't there

to hear it, because it would have made you cry. He called you a whore.

He said you've always deserved everything you got. And I nearly went

blind. I think I punched him, because my fist hurts like a bitch. But

I remember screaming, and they had to pull me off him. You're not a

whore. It was hard to remember that when you slept with and smiled at

everyone. But you're not a whore.

May 11 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: blossoms

I was walking down some park way or another in your Paris. And all the

trees were in bloom. All the petals were drifting down, and I thought

you would like to see it very much. I thought, no matter how many

years you've lived in this city of lights, you've always marveled at

it. I don't want to go back to London ...

June 2 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: hurt

I had a relapse yesterday. I thought you would like to know. I keep

seeing you where you're not. And I think you're a fucking bitch for

making me miss you so much. I hope you know that you fuck up

everything about me, and I hate you for it.

June 30 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: summer

I hate the heat. And I hate Paris. I hate missing you. I hate being

alone. I hate waking up without your kiss. I hate looking through your

cook books to find the recipes you starred and wrote "petit lapin's

favorite" on. I hate not listening to your voice. I hate not having

your hand in mine. I hate not seeing your gorgeous smile. I hate you.

And I hate myself.

July 14 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: another one

Happy fucking birthday, asshole. Why aren't you with me? Why aren't

you here to wrap me up in your arms. Why aren't you here to smile and

pull me close and whisper in my ear "where's my gift, petit lapin?"?

July 19 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: so you know

Your bed is very uncomfortable without you in it.

July 25 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: new

I got a new therapist. She's a pretty lady with soft brown eyes. I

talk about you all the time. I don't think she likes you much though.

She told me I need to stop writing to you, it's stunting my healing or

some shit. I laughed at her. She expects me to let go of you? How the

hell am I supposed to do that?

August 13 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: apartment

I sit in your living room sometimes, wishing you would come home. I

stare at the window, out at Paris filled with lights. I'm a little

afraid of your apartment. If I sit too still and quiet, I think you're

there. In the corner. Smiling as peacefully as ever. I don't like your

apartment at all, because it chic and empty. And you're not in it.

When you are, it's because I'm dreaming.

August 28 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: again

Another relapse. It hurt. Matthew called. He's worried about me, he

says, wants to know how I've been dealing after... The absolute

nothing. Nothing happened. You may not be in Paris. Or in your

apartment. Or in France. Or on this planet. But nothing happened

because I wouldn't let it. I wouldn't ever let anything happen to you.

September 15 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: her

She still doesn't like you, my therapist. Her name is Emily by the

way. And she tells me that our relationship is built on shaky

foundations. She told me that I hurt you too much. Told me that you

hurt me too much. She doesn't understand. No one does. That's what

we've always lived to do, hurt each other. I am nothing without you.

August 20 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: question

Emily asked me if I send you messages all of her meetings. "No" I said,

"why would I want to do that?" She ignored my question. She does that,

you know. "Why don't you," she asked me. It took me a while to come up

with an answer. "You'd make him cry." But that wasn't the answer she

wanted. That's okay, because it wasn't the truth. No one but me can

make you cry. Your skin is too tough for the rest of them.

September 5 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: to myself

I hate that I lie to myself. I hate that I lie to you. I hate that

you're not a part of me. I hate that you're not here. I hate that I'm

not almighty. I hate that I'm not god. I hate that you have scars from

other people. I hate that I haven't been able to protect you from

every goddamn thing that came your way. Not even myself.

September 17 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: the wall

I have a picture of us, from the second great war. China took it when

we weren't looking. You were sleeping on my shoulder, and I was

smoking my second last cigarette. We looked god awful then, crusted in

every kind of filth imaginable, sitting in a battle field. But I hung

it on the wall, because you looked beautiful.

September 26 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: proof

I showed Emily the picture. I think it was to prove to her that you're

real. Because I think she thinks you're just in my head. Isn't that

silly? That's why I'm writing to you. So that you don't disappear. Now

if only I had a way to show her the kiss marks you used to leave on my

neck.

October 1 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: tears

Matthew called again. He was crying on the phone, and kept bringing up

the nothing. When I told him I was okay, because I was still texting

you, he cried harder. I wish he would stop shoving the nothing down my

throat. Because it's nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing happened.

Even if I couldn't stop the bombings. And even if I couldn't stop

Germany taking you. And even if I couldn't stop your people tearing

you. Even if I couldn't stop a plane crash that you shouldn't have

been on... I could stop nothing. I could stop the absolute nothing.

October 10 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: remember

Do you remember the lullaby you used to sing to me? That was such a

long time ago, but I find myself calling up the tune. Do you remember

the clay pots you would give me? Do you remember the way I stood at

the door of your studio and watched you work the clay? Do you remember

the way I held your hand. Do you remember the way the seine glowed

when we sat side by side at it, after the first war? There's been a lot

of things between us to remember. It's hard to keep track.

November 8 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: relapse

I had another relapse. And I've been hurting worse than ever. Panic

attacks. They keep me awake with fear and gnaw my insides, because I

think I see you. Only I don't. And that makes it worse.

November 19 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: snowfall

The first snowfall, in your Paris. I almost saw the snowflakes land on

your eyelashes, on your cheeks, your nose. I almost heard you laugh

and say "look petit lapin, each one is different." almost felt your

heat as you pulled me close and almost smelt wine on your breath,

lilies on your skin. I don't want to explore your Paris. But I want to

stay in your apartment less.

November 26 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: said

Emily made me say it. "What happened on February 6th?" She asked.

"Nothing," I told her, "absolutely nothing." She got frustrated with

me. She doesn't understand. Nothing happened because I wouldn't let

it. "He died, Arthur!" She told me, and not in her gentle voice. "Francis

Bonnefoy died that day. Now say it." I wouldn't. I wouldn't say it

because it wasn't true. Except that she kept me there, sat in front if

the door and refused all her other appointments until I said it. And I

said it. I broke, and I said it. She gave me a sigh, smiled like she'd

done something good. Only, she had cracked me inside.

December 17 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: not

Nothing happened on February 6th. You did not get on a plane. You did

not crash. You did not call me an hour before to say "I love you,

petit lapin." you did not give me my favorite breathy laugh. You did

not email me a photo of you getting on the plane. Because there was no

plane. there was no crash, there's nothing. There's absolute nothing.

December 25 2010

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: Noel

I got you a watch for Christmas. It's a Rolex, and I think you would

have liked it. You would smile when you opened the case, would have

coordinated your outfit for the new years party to match it. I got you

a watch, but I gave it to Alfred, because I know you can't have it.

January 2 2011

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: year

Emily has corrupted me somewhere, on the inside. You. Aren't. Here. It

makes me feel black. Do they expect me to give you up? What am I

without you? Who am I, without you? I don't know anymore. I can't

answer that question. You aren't here. You aren't on this planet.

You're not alive. You died. You died.

January 15 2011

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: distant

Do you remember the way you looked, that first night of the great war?

Do you know how much I had laughed at your wretched form? Seems long

ago, doesn't it?

January 30 2011

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: that time

I had another relapse. I couldn't stop screaming. The anniversary is

coming up. The panic attacks are stronger. Some how, texting you is no

longer a comfort.

February 6 2011

To: Francis Bonnefoy

From: Arthur Kirkland

Subject: last.

This is my last text to you. Fitting, isn't it?

Matthew called in and had your number deactivated.

I wonder how I'm supposed to cope without you, without

even a scrap of you. Is it cold where you are? Do they have good food?

Am I expected sometime soon? Maybe I'll write you letters, address

them to heaven, and hope you get them.


End file.
